


You Belong With Me

by lovemyway (vesper93)



Series: Speak Or Die [1]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Cute, High School AU, M/M, Taylor Swift song, Tumblr Rec, You Belong with Me, shy timmy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2021-01-02 13:29:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21162425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vesper93/pseuds/lovemyway
Summary: He defied all the odds; he really did. He was Student Council President, Rowing Team Captain, soon-to-be-announced Valedictorian, and Yale bound in the fall. And he was gay.





	You Belong With Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anephemeralmind](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anephemeralmind/gifts).

> Hello!
> 
> So this is my first fic from my Tumblr prompt call! This one is for anephemeralmind who asked that I write a fic based on the song 'You Belong With Me' by Taylor Swift. This is what came out - high school tropes abound! It's a little cute, and a lot silly. 
> 
> Also longer than the <800 words I had planned, coming in at just under 1200. Oh well!
> 
> Written and edited in under an hour. These are meant to be short, fun, and easy. 
> 
> Hope you like! 
> 
> V  
xxx

He defied all the odds; he really did. He was Student Council President, Rowing Team Captain, soon-to-be-announced Valedictorian, and Yale bound in the fall. And he was _gay_. Not only was he gay, he was _out_ and gay, with a boyfriend on the cheerleading team. That just didn’t happen, not even in 21st Century America, where people were supposedly getting used to these things.

But the thing was, everybody liked Armie. It was virtually impossible _not_ to like Armie; he was incredibly handsome (six foot something of muscle, blond hair, blue eyes, and a smile that lit up the dark), but he was also really smart, kind, and amazing humble about it all. It defied logic, it defied common sense. To be honest, it defied common decency; no-one should be allowed to be that amazing. Especially not at 17.

Timmy jumped as the locker next to him closed with a loud _snap_.

‘You’re staring again,’ his best friend, Saoirse, said to him curtly.

‘I wasn’t staring,’ Timmy said, blushing, turning back to his own still open locker. He’d turned around when he’d heard that familiar warm voice fill the hallway, surrounded by a gaggle of hangers on. He’d watched Armie go to his own locker (across the hall, and five to the right from his) and get his books out before walking off, still surrounded.

‘Dude, you don’t need to lie to me,’ Saoirse said, her eyes sparkling, ‘Come on, otherwise we’re going to be late for History. You can stare at him a bit more there.’

Timmy blushed furiously again, grabbing the books he needed for class, before shutting his own locker and heading down the hallway with Saoirse. She was right, of course, she was always bloody right. He would use his AP History class as a chance to stare at Armie; or rather the back of Armie’s head, as he and Saoirse sat in the fourth row and Armie in the second. It was a lovely back of head to look at though.

‘One of these days you might just pluck up the courage to talk to him,’ said Saoirse.

Timmy nearly choked on his tongue at the thought of it, how would he, a mere mortal, ever be able to talk to _him?_ Sure, they’d been in the same class since they were both four years old, and he had fond memories of Armie sitting in his back garden making mud pies when they were five. But that was over a decade ago; once they started high school it had been clear that Armie was going to shine, shine, shine, and Timmy was just going to be in the background. The proverbial tree in the school play. It wasn’t sudden, and it wasn’t as if Armie had just dumped him or something, no, he was far too nice for that. It had happened gradually throughout middle school, and high school had just sort of cemented that. They were on different paths in life; that was okay.

That didn’t mean that Timmy suddenly stopped thinking about him, and talking about him, and daydreaming about him, _<strike>and jerking off to the idea of him</strike>_. He had it bad. He knew that. But there was nothing he could do about it; he’d been hook, line, and sinker for the guy since they were nine years old, and Timmy had realised that those weird floaty feelings he got in his stomach when Armie picked him for the team in gym class weren’t because he was ill.

AP History went quickly. Timmy thought it was quite an interesting class, made all the more interesting by Armie raising his hand several times, allowing Timmy’s eyes to trace those strong shoulder muscles and bicep, covered but not hidden by one of his classic tees.

Leaving class, Timmy took as long as possible to pack his bag away, as Armie was talking to Mr Garrett about their essay assignment, and it was nice just to be in the same room as him for as long as possible. He only left when the room was basically empty because Saoirse was tugging at his elbow. He couldn’t fit all his books in his bag, so scooped the last three up in his arms before he was dragged away.

‘You really should, you know,’ she said, as they walked the hallway towards their next class. Maths, so they were both dragging their feet.

‘What?’ he asked absently.

‘Talk to him,’ she said, ‘You never know what could happen.’

Timmy rolled his eyes so hard he thought he might have had a good look at his brain momentarily, ‘Saoirse, there is _no. point. _He has a boyfriend.’

‘_Had_,’ she said, in a sing-song tone.

‘Hmmm?’ said Timmy, not really hearing what she’d said.

‘I said _he had a boyfriend_,’ she said, gleeful that she knew something he didn’t, ‘Didn’t you hear? They split up at Mandy Lipman’s party this weekend. Apparently had a huge row or something and Dean stormed out.’

He stopped walking suddenly, his face probably a picture of shock, elation, and completely dumbfoundness. He was so wrapped up in what Saoirse had just said that he didn’t even hear the; ‘look out!’ shouted behind him, before something very large collided with him, and he fell to his knees with a thud, dropping all of his books.

‘Oh my god,’ came a voice that he knew so well he could pick it out of a thousand thousand voices, ‘I’m so sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going, stupid idiot, walking backwards whilst talking, not looking…’

Timmy was struck dumb as Armie mumbled on and on about his own stupidity, collecting Timmy’s books in his arms, before holding out a hand to help him up.

It took Timmy a moment to realise he was supposed to _take_ his hand, causing Armie to crook his eyebrow in question. He quickly rectified the situation by reaching out and gripping the proffered hand. Warm, with callouses from gripping the oars when he was rowing.

‘Er, thanks man,’ said Timmy, still slightly in shock as Armie handed his books back to him.

‘Sorry again. I’m such an idiot,’ said Armie, a soft smile lighting up his entire face.

‘It’s fine,’ he said, ‘I shouldn’t have stopped dead in the hallway. It was my fault.’

Armie didn’t reply, just smiled again and reached out to clap him on the shoulder, ‘See you around, Timmy.’

It was all he could do not to keel over again as Armie walked away, his long strides taking him away up the corridor. He was glad he didn’t, however, otherwise he would have missed Armie looking back over his shoulder, making eye contact, and shooting him another incredible smile, that this time, he actually had the wherewithal to return.

He practically skipped off to his next class, despite his sore knees.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to send me a fic prompt, here's the original post: 
> 
> _So I wanna practice writing very short, but detailed, ficlets - <800 words._  
I want your Charmie or Eliver prompts.  
I will write smuff, fluff, smut, none of the above (i.e clean/general audiences)… Basically any situation or whatever. Only things I won’t write is stuff that’s illegal irl in a smut sense (if you want Timmy to be a pickpocket, then sure, fine).  
If you don’t wanna reply publicly, shoot me a message and I’ll see what I can do. In return if you could help promote any writing that comes out of this wee project I’d be very grateful.  
This won’t be a quick thing either - hopefully this post will act as a master post of ideas that I can dip into.
> 
> Drop me a message if you have a prompt you'd like to see written! 
> 
> xxxx


End file.
